INTERNECINE
by The Weaver Atropos
Summary: Jacob and Leah find comfort in each other.


**Title:** INTERNECINE  
_The Weaver Atropos_

**Date:** August 10, 2008 (11:40—3:07)  
**Pairings:** Jacob/Leah  
**Rating: **Probably M, to be safe.**  
Warnings:** not-BD compliant.  
**Comments: **Jacob/Leah pr0n. Because Jacob's a babe. True story. Set sometime after Bella's marriage to Edward. It's not supposed to be romantic. Churned out to the lovely tune of Lovin' You, by DBSK.

Internecine refers to mutually destructive forces.

* * *

He'd never touched her. Not really. Not the way Edward did.

Even when she'd melted against him, all those years ago, broken and mangled up inside, she'd always had restraint.

Because she was being loyal to _him_. To her bloodsucker.

And now, she was a million miles away, lost to him.

She'd die soon.

It hurt him, _wounded_ him, to know that she'd picked her own death. That, despite all he'd ever offered her, she had still gone.

The little hope in him that had been burning since that kiss, it was extinguished now, but the ashes were twittering still—yearning for a catch to light up again. Even now—even when she was _his_—he loved her. He couldn't let her go, he realized forlornly, clutching at his chest in a macabre mimicry of what had been her pain.

He wanted to forget, but a little, stubborn, _hopeful_ part of him refused. Because maybe she would come back to him someday.

And what then? What good would it do for him to tear himself open all over again?

Best to keep the wound fresh and angry, so that he'd be able to give himself to her…if she ever came back.

"It gets easier, you know."

And the voice was soft, timid, but he was too drained to fight—to try and find himself a quiet corner to cry in.

"It does." And she was by his side suddenly, studying him hesitantly from beneath a fringe of thick, dark lashes. He was surprised by a fleeting touch at his hand, meant to be reassuring.

"Yeah?" He didn't even recognize his own voice, it was so haunted. Almost empty.

"Jacob—why don't we—"

And he turned to her then, taking in her too-wide eyes and her too-full lips. He looked at her, really _looked_ at her, and frowned. The face was all wrong, the hair too dark to be right—and her body, her body was different—thicker, more voluptuous.

He could feel her discomfort at his inspection, but she remained where she was nonetheless, bare toes steeped in the dewing grass of dusk.

She wasn't Bella.

He sighed, deeply, and turned his eyes back to the darkening sky.

She approached at his silence, sign enough of consent, and settled beside him. He could feel her eyes on him—sensing, searching—before she sighed quietly, looking away. There was something reassuring about the way he could feel the heat emanating from her, he realized—about the way she could still feel _warm_ to him.

He almost smiled at the irony of it all.

Bella would feel so cold to him, now. Deathly cold. _Too cold_.

She had curled up unobtrusively at his side, her knees pulled in close to her chest, her chin resting on them as she stared ublinkingly into the lush forest spread before them. Her dress had gathered at her thighs with the movement, but she didn't seem to care. Her bronze skin almost glittered in the twilight.

She was quiet save for her steady exhalations, and he was aware—vaguely—of some measure of comfort at having her so nearby, wisps of her midnight hair occasionally tickling at his forearm.

They stayed like that for a long while, long enough for the sky to twinge a sinister black and for him to begin to feel the numbness.

It was then, just when he was about to surrender to that feeling—to the utter despair and betrayal that he felt, that Leah's hand ghosted over his.

It wasn't an invading touch, or a propositioning one, just an offer of comfort he gladly accepted. And he was surprised, because somehow, he had thought that only Bella's hand could fit so neatly into his own.

He took in a timorous breath and closed his eyes.

He felt Leah move closer, her shoulder pressed very gently against his side, squeezing painfully at the hand he had allowed her. _It gets better_.

In the distance, he heard Sam's howl.

And it shouldn't have surprised him when Leah tightened against him, melting into him as though he had suddenly become her own source of strength. But it hadn't been a beckoning call.

Sam would know better than that.

There would be no pack activities tonight.

She relaxed again as she realized this, almost apologizing—making to drop his hand—when his voice cut through the stillness of the night. "I thought you said it got better."

And there was a bitter mockery in his voice.

She removed her hand from his at the words, tucking it safely beneath her chin, and glanced away into the direction the sound had come from. "I can live without him now," she clarified, as though that made all the difference in the world.

Jacob remained silent, knowing she had more to say.

"I can…find comfort in other things," she turned her brown eyes on his, a peculiar sort of sadness burning in them. "I know that, we won't be together."

And he gazed into her brown eyes, feeling his anguish resurface—aware of the pain reflected in her expression. Her voice was a quiet whisper, "…but that's okay."

She tried at a smile then, the very corners of her lips quivering before she looked away, coiling up on her side. Like before, her dress fell high on her hips, just enough to keep her decent. Her legs—long and toasted warm like his—were draped distinctively.

She acted like a wolf even when she wasn't phased, Jacob noted absently.

Briefly, he wondered if his own lupine tendencies were as evident.

Achingly, he wished he could've phased, but realization that Sam was out there—in wolf form—stopped him. He didn't want to share his pain with anybody. He didn't want that sort of pity.

"He did it on purpose," Leah whispered, understanding the sudden shift in his expression, "…he was afraid you'd run away if you phased."

"He could've commanded me otherwise."

"…he wouldn't do that, Jacob. He…understands."

And Leah's voice was almost begrudging.

He turned his eyes back on her, studying the long midnight hair running in waves over her body, and thought of Emily. Leah was pretty, he realized absently. And strangely feminine.

"I thought you were a bitch."

She blinked at him when he said so, her wide eyes registering offense before recognizing the compliment, and smiled wearily. "I wasn't always a bitch."

And Jacob tried to imagine it, then—the way Leah _had_ been. He had sifted through Sam's memories before, product of the pack mind, but all those images had been tainted—seeming dull and lifeless in light of Sam's imprint on Emily. Staring at her now, as inappropriately as her clothes were falling about her, he tried to imagine what she'd look like without the sadness that perpetually drew her mouth into a frown and cut a crease at her brows.

And that earlier realization came back to him.

She was pretty.

An exotic sort of pretty, he supposed, with her dark eyes and skin, but pretty nonetheless.

Heaving a sigh of his own, he mirrored her movement, dropping to his back and staring upwards at the heavens, his arms drawing a cradle for his head. A leafy moisture seeped through the fabric of his worn, faded jeans, kissing at his overheated skin.

In the distance, another cry rang out.

He could hear Leah's muttered curse even as he closed his eyes, surrendering himself to his senses. It was easier to block it all out with her around, he realized. Because she'd been through it before—because, in some sadistic, cruel way, he understood that her own suffering was a worlds away from his. Because, while he had suspected that Bella had loved him—though she'd always been unable to admit it—Leah had _felt_ that same love from Sam. Had depended on it, and thrived on it, and worst of all _experienced_ it.

She _knew_ that Sam had loved her.

And worst of all she knew that an imprint was irrevocable.

Morbidly, he realized that her suffering distracted him from his own.

He shifted minutely, just enough so that he could study her from the corner of his eyes. And she was still as she'd been earlier—body drawn enticingly to herself, eyes hidden beneath her thick, dark hair. And despite it all, she seemed small to him—vulnerable and fragile, just like Bella.

It occurred to him that he'd never seen her phase.

He had been unnerved by her entry into the pack, at first. Disbelief, mingled with something he might've categorized as chauvinism, made it difficult for him to imagine that the sleek, gray wolf he sometimes fought alongside was Leah. Unlike the rest of them, she had retained her size despite the transformation, and there was little else that might've given away her werewolf nature, save for her healing skin and the heat of her body.

"What is it?" Leah's eyes met his slowly, having been aware of his silent inspection, and considered him strangely.

"I've never seen you phase."

And she bristled at that, almost glaring, before continuing, her tone sarcastic. "I'll make it a priority, next time."

He smiled a little despite her sarcasm, seeing her surprise even as she tried to hide it, and sat up. "We should head back. Sue must be getting worried."

And Leah regarded him hesitantly for a few moments, still stretched out on her side, before twining her hand very carefully into his. She avoided his eyes, training her own on their hands, and gave him something of a pull.

As always, her strength surprised him.

He was struck by her heat, at first, disoriented by the feel of her warm skin, and later by her expression. There was a need there, he noted, but also a deeper, festering sort of pain, and he realized despairingly that he could only help with one.

Her lips found his before he really ever had a chance to question her motives, and he found his heartbeat quickening almost devastatingly at the feel of her. Her body was slight beneath his, and her hands were tight and bruising at his nape, as though afraid that he'd pull away if she let go.

Absently, in a quieted corner of his mind, he was lamenting at his body's mutiny.

But he recognized a solace in these touches, and his own hands made their way into her hair, his fingertips tangling fervently about her long mane. He kissed her deeply and desperately, acknowledging a hunger he hadn't known existed in him, and she reciprocated just as eagerly, grappling with him in an attempt to escape her own reality.

Her hands drifted to his back as she kissed him, kneading the flesh there tenderly despite her desperation, fingertips barely skimming at the hem of his jeans. And there was something in that touch—something in the way she was hesitant even in her feverish kisses—that made him want her even more.

He growled, the sound feral in its origins, and sat up suddenly, bringing her with him, her chest pressed tight against his own as she crawled clumsily into his lap. He sighed gratefully at the change, wrapping his arms about her waist as his mouth found her neck, feeling her small, hot hands squeezing reciprocatingly at his shoulders.

Her quick, soft exhalations spurred him on, and he sloppily found his way back to her mouth, kissing her hungrily—crushing her closer, wanting to melt into her in so many ways. He felt her move against him, the fabric of her dress rustling faintly in the dark of night, and he moaned a little when she made to pull away.

But then her lips were on his neck, bruising, and his fingers dug into the small of her back, pressing her forward despite her complaint. She was drifting lower, he realized absently, her mouth dropping a myriad of arousing little kisses at his clavicle, and he growled a little at the nonsense of it all.

It wasn't as though she had to seduce him, or anything.

He let his own hands drift, resting them high on Leah's thighs, the hem of her dress tickling at his wrists, and squeezed at the offered flesh when she kissed him again, softer this time. He sighed despite himself, feeling a dull burn begin at his ears when she settled her weight fully on him, enough that she could _feel_ him, even, and shivered a little when she ran her hands through his hair.

Their kissing had slowed, enough for him to realize where things were going, and he wondered briefly—in a flicker of reason—if they should stop.

But then her hands were back at his cheeks—nearly searing hot and branding—and he was groaning into their kiss all over again. His hands found the hem of her dress again, and this time he pulled it over her head in a single, swift move, his breath leaving him in a sudden gust at the sight that greeted him.

Suddenly, her earlier offense at the phasing comment made a lot more sense.

He watched her watch him, her long lashes almost obscuring her eyes as he took in the sight of her, nude skin glistening with a faint sheen of sweat by the ephemeral light of the moon.

Leah shifted uncomfortably at his prolonged silence, unmoving as he studied her, a frown beginning to draw down the corner of her lips. She made to reach for her dress, torso already hidden beneath a veil of her midnight hair, when Jacob's hand closed about her wrist, using his other arm to ease her back on his lap.

His eyes found hers and he stared at her intently, unexpectedly overcome by the intimacy and vulnerability of the moment. He let his lids flutter shut as he leaned closer, brushing his lips against her own almost uncertainly.

And she breathed a sigh at the touch, melting into his arms as she had earlier, her breasts a pleasant warmth at his chest. And it was different, kissing her like this, when she was nude and vulnerable, her skin tight against his own.

She pulled away from that kiss slowly, glancing at him from beneath lidded eyes, her hands dropping to his jeans. And he was surprised by how content he was to just watch her—by how entrancing her tapering waist and rounded hips suddenly were.

She bit her lip a little as she eased down his zipper, her gaze flickering to his own again.

And something inside him tightened at her expression, at how _forlorn_ she looked.

But even then, she was helping him out of his jeans, small little sounds of pleasure escaping her lips when his hands finally found her breasts. And she was distracted by that, her hands faltering at his hips, fingernails curling against his soft skin.

He buried his face in her neck, breathing in her scent—one that echoed his own—and sighed pleasantly when she finally succeeded in leaving him nude. And she was climbing atop him again, pulling him close, her lips pressed gently against his shoulder.

His hands trembled when they found her hips, guiding her as she moved against him, tense against her supple skin. He focused minutely on her breathing as he shifted, throwing his weight so that she was pinned beneath him, her body sheltered by his own.

And he watched her, dark hair splayed against the lush grass, still a little perplexed by the magnitude of it all, until his body took over, reassured by the small touches she placed at his back and shoulders, until it was just the two of them again—laying quietly side by side.

"Jacob?"

And her voice sounded fragile against the utter stillness that surrounded them.

He looked at her, taking in her naked form, aware of the belated flush that kissed at her cheeks. She said nothing once she realized that he was okay—that he had understood what this had been.

She relaxed beside him, chancing to place a hand at his chest, and pressed her face into his side. They remained quiet like that until morning, when Jacob stirred her gently, his hand at her cheek.

And it wasn't as though he had suddenly fallen in love with her, or forgotten about Bella.

And he could see it too, in her eyes—in the way her expression was distant, albeit sated—and in the way she smiled a little sadly at him when they locked eyes.

In the distance, Sam howled again, this time beckoning them.


End file.
